Phoenix
I don’t know when, exactly, I passed out during the movie. One minute I was shoving a rangoon into my mouth and pretending I didn’t care that Ryder kept whispering I love you every few minutes like it was oxygen. The next—I was out cold.
Out cold, snoring, apparently.
I only realized it when I stirred awake, feeling the low rumble of his chest under my cheek and the rise and fall of his breathing under my body. My limbs were tangled with his, one of my legs flung across his lap, like my sleeping body had known exactly where it felt safe even if my mind hadn’t caught up.
I blinked slowly.
The TV was still on, the room lit by the soft blue flicker of end credits rolling, and I squinted up at him, still half-asleep.
“Can we go to bed now?” I asked, my voice a soft rasp as I rubb
